


Every Heartbreak Makes It Hard to Keep the Faith

by bigbidumbass



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Inspired by Eros and Psyche (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbidumbass/pseuds/bigbidumbass
Summary: A Blakefield Psyche and Eros AUTom is Psyche, Will is Eros.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 19
Kudos: 43





	Every Heartbreak Makes It Hard to Keep the Faith

It all started with beauty. Venus, the goddess of beauty, was quite a jealous woman. She prided herself on the fact that no human could ever be more beautiful than she was. When her pride was wounded, she showed no mercy—if you get involved with a goddess, you get what’s coming to you.

Thomas Blake was one of two sons born to Martha and Henry Blake. Joseph was exceedingly beautiful, but it was Tom’s beauty that really stirred everyone up. Some said he possessed the beauty of the moon, others said the stars, but the most popular consisted of people saying that he was even more beautiful than Venus.

It did not take long for Venus herself to hear of this, and naturally, she was angry. A human, more beautiful than the goddess of beauty? She would not have it. She wanted revenge. She wanted the boy punished. She considered having him killed at first, but that would not do—she wanted permanent suffering. She would call upon her son. Surely, he would fix all of this.

* * *

Will loved his mother. He did, as nearly all sons naturally love the parents who raised them. He held quite an affectionate feeling for her at most times. However, it didn’t quite stop him from being irritated with her on occasions, especially whenever she called him to do frivolous tasks for her. Today was no different.

“Mother,” he said, falling into an obligatory kneel in front of her, “You asked for me?”

“Yes,” she snapped, “And why did it take you so long? I’ve been waiting for ages.” She was angry, but underneath that Will could tell she was nervous—her voice had trembled, ever so slightly. She was rattled. 

Will watched her face closely, his brow furrowing “I have my own duties that need me, Mother,” he said, taking her hand. “I came as quickly as I could.”

She brushed his words aside, pulling him into a walk across the room with her. 

“The mortals are making a mockery of me, Eros,” she stated, her lip pouting. Eros. A nickname for him, given to him by his mother for his duties. It was the name mortals knew him by. His mother was watching him, her face studying his with express intelligence. 

“A mockery?” he asked. “How?”

It was the question she’d been waiting for. “They’re calling someone human more beautiful than I am,” she said, offense ringing into her words. “Worshipping him, as if he were a god.”

Will immediately offered up the false, obligatory compliments he knew that she wanted him to, assuring her that no one mortal could possibly be more beautiful than her. 

“Yes, I know, but that isn’t the point,” she stated. “The point is that they’re _saying it_ —about this boy, named Thomas Blake. I want you to go down there and make sure no one ever says it again.”

Will gave his mother a disbelieving look. “You want me to kill them? Isn’t that a little-”

"No,” she interrupted, “I want you to go down there and _punish him_. Make him fall in love with something terrible, ugly. A monster.”

Will was silent as he considered. “You’re sure?” he asked. It was a very harsh sentence. Not quite as harsh as killing them, but harsh nonetheless.

Venus didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Will didn’t exactly want to obey, but he was too exhausted to argue with her over it.

“Fine, then. I’ll do it,” he said. He’d done much worse things on his mother’s behalf, and he tried not to think about it as he headed out of Olympus. 

It was easy to find the Blake, what with all the people that had flocked to see his beauty. Will didn’t manage to catch sight of him, but he did find out where he lived. 

He waited until nightfall to execute his plan. It was easy, almost too easy, but he didn’t care. He’d prick the boy with his arrow, make him fall in love with some hideous monster, and then his job would be done. He would get a break from his mother being on his tail.

When the moon had risen and the night had gone quiet save for the sound of gently chirping crickets, Will knew it was time. He was careful to be quiet as he slipped silently into the boy’s room, preparing himself to prick Thomas with the arrow. But as soon as Will had laid eyes on Tom, he froze. 

Will was no stranger to beauty, not while being the god of desire, but he’d _never_ seen beauty like this. The moonlight streaming in through the window was giving the boy an ethereal sort of glow. Even sleeping, he was a sight to behold. Soft, angelic locks curled around his face, framed against his pillow. His porcelain skin might have been marble, for all it looked, but the soft rosy hue in his cheeks betrayed the humanity in him. His soft, even breaths were enchanting. 

Will could see how they would worship him—had he not been a god himself, he might also have worshipped, sat down at an altar of the boy’s beauty. 

As he stared, the arrow he held in his hand started to slip from his fingers. Will quickly snapped out of his trance, reaching to grab it before it hit the ground and woke Tom. He managed to catch it, but the end of it pricked his finger. He only had a moment to consider what that meant before the effects hit him and he was breathlessly, hopelessly in love with Tom. He stood for a moment longer to watch the boy, who shifted in his sleep as Will left. His mother be defied, the boy would not be touched, Will thought. Not while he could help it.

* * *

When Tom awoke, he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d been having some sort of wonderful dream. He couldn’t quite remember it, but there had been a man, a beautiful man, come to take him away. As Tom slowly slipped further and further away from sleep’s grasp, the sweet memories of it faded like it had been carried away by the wind. He was left with the vague memory of having been loved and having loved equally.

He wished it had been real, so much that his chest seemed to ache with longing. There were many who looked at him, but none who loved, none who saw who Tom truly was. Joe had been married long ago, and many of Tom’s friends as well, but even though many came to admire Tom’s beauty, no suitors ever offered their hand to him. He was desperate for love. 

He knew even his parents were getting worried, with how long it had been. He’d heard whispers of them at night, worried they’d angered the gods somehow. Tom supposed that might be it, though he had no clue what he might have done to anger any gods. Not that it would stop them from being angry if he hadn’t meant it—he knew that the gods were quite temperamental. 

Heading out to breakfast, he saw his parents seated at the table, saw the looks of sorrow permanently written into their faces. He took a seat, trying to lighten a mood with a smile.

“Good morning,” he greeted them. 

“Thomas,” his father started, “We’ve been thinking.”

Tom looked at him expectantly. “Yes?”

His mother and father shared a look.

“We’ve been thinking that, well, perhaps… we should go to see the oracle,” his mother finished.

Tom tried to hide his surprise. “The oracle?” he responded. “Why?”

His mother’s face was written in with anxiety, her hands wringing in her skirt. “Your father and I are concerned that perhaps the reason you have not found love yet, is—perhaps we’ve made one of the gods angry. We thought it would be proper to find out who it is, to find out what we can do to return to their favor.”

Tom couldn’t deny that he’d wondered the same, but fear was shooting down his spine at the thought of really finding out the cause. What if the gods’ anger was irreparable? What if Tom was doomed to live alone forever? He didn’t think he could bear it.

He’d ached for touch, for affection for so long—not the empty, meaningless words of lust and admiration that everyone seemed to give him, but true fondness, someone that should care more for him than his looks. But sitting still and doing nothing wasn’t helping either, obviously. Perhaps it really would be better, perhaps they could regain the gods’ favor, and Tom would finally know the sweet bliss of being loved. 

“Alright,” he said, finally. “Let’s do it.”

His father went up alone. That was just the way it was— the rules of the oracle. Tom was trembling the entire time his father was gone, sitting outside watching for his father to return. His mother sat next to him and took his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze, her kind smile melting away a portion of Tom’s fears. _At least I’ll always have Mum,_ Tom thought to himself, _if I’m not meant to be loved, she’ll love me._ He knew it wasn’t the same kind of love, but he’d settle for whatever he got. 

The two of them waited for Tom’s father to return, sharing the same anxiety. Tom was so nervous that he thought he might lose his breakfast, and he sat in the grass. He ran his hands over it, feeling the sensation of it brushing against his fingers, the soft chill of the dew that lay upon it.

It seemed years, decades, ages before his father had finally appeared in view and Tom felt like he could breathe again. But as soon as he caught sight of his father’s face, his expression, dread slithered into him. Tom was feeling faint, praying that he was wrong about what his father was about to say.

“Henry?” his mother asked, finding the words that Tom had been unable to. “What is it? What was said?”

His face was so pale. It frightened Tom. 

“I- it was said that Thomas is destined for no mortal lover,” his father said softly, and Tom froze still, his throat tightening with the approach of tears.

“What?” his mother burst, “That can’t be true!”

“Let me speak,” his father instructed solemnly. “She told me that Tom’s future lover awaits on the top of the mountain. He is a monster that neither gods nor men can resist.”

His mother was the first to respond, breaking into tears. Tom felt as though he might shatter into a thousand pieces. Was this reality? Was he forever doomed to live with a monster? 

Both of his parents had turned to look at him, and he couldn’t stand it—he ran to his room, hot tears hitting his cheeks, grief rushing through his body. It was somehow worse than he’d imagined. _A monster that neither gods nor men can resist_. He wondered what on earth that meant. 

His parents were knocking on the door, but he didn’t move to open it—he simply wanted to be alone. He curled his knees to his chest and buried his face in them, trying to muffle the soft sobs that escaped him. What had he done to deserve such a fate? Why did happiness avoid him, when Joe had found it so easily?

Tom didn’t show for dinner that night. He lay on his bed, having cried himself out and staring at the ceiling with an absurd feeling of numbness. He supposed a part of himself had accepted it. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad. Perhaps the monster would not hurt him. Foolish thinking, but Tom didn’t know how to survive any other way. It was the only thing he could bear.

The next morning, he dressed and allowed his parents to take him up to the mountain, trying to brush aside how much their grief hurt to hear. His mother couldn’t stop crying, and Tom caught his father’s jaw tightening, knuckles going white on the reins of the carriage they rode. When he’d arrived, he gave them both a hug. He couldn’t trust himself to speak— he knew he’d only cry, but allowed the tightness of the hug to speak for him. 

“I love you,” his mother told him. “May the gods have mercy on you.”

Tom gave her a weak smile and took her hand, squeezing it in the same way she’d squeezed it the day before. It seemed ages ago that Tom had been sitting on that lawn with her. Ages since he’d resigned himself to the fact that he’d never see true happiness. 

When they had gone, Tom sat alone on the summit, breathing in the crisp air and waiting for something to happen. It was quite cold, and he was beginning to shiver. Despite the chill, his eyes were beginning to droop—he was feeling inexplicably drowsy, and it wasn’t long before he’d dozed off, having dreams of a man with golden hair.

When he awoke, Tom found himself somewhere new. At first, he blinked the sleep out of his eyes, wondering if it was the last portion of a dream leaking into reality. But, no, he was certainly in a different place than where he’d fallen asleep, and he shot to his feet, breathing heavily. Had the monster come for him? How had he gotten here?

Trees were scattered around him, soft blossoms of cherry, pink roses, blackberry bushes. A forest. He didn’t know where he was at all, but he heard the soft gurgling of water and headed toward it, discovering that the sound was a fountain instead of a stream like he’d originally thought. 

Just beyond it, a palace, stunning, so beautiful that it seemed to call Tom closer. He couldn’t think of a reason not to—after all, hadn’t he followed the oracle’s instructions? He went inside, finding that it seemed to have been built for him. All the pieces of art that hung on the walls, they were his favorites. All the soft colors on the walls were ones he loved, all the music that played pleased his ears. But it was empty. No people, and certainly no monster. Tom felt his chest twinge with loneliness.

“Do you like it?” he heard a voice say, and he whirled around, but all was empty around him. He stayed silent, wondering if he’d imagined the voice, but it came again:

“It’s all yours, you know. I hoped it would be to your liking.”

It was very soft, a gentle tone that soothed Tom, but he couldn’t help from being anxious, not wanting to so easily trust this.

“Who are you?” he called, his eyes still hopelessly searching for the source of the voice. 

“Don’t you know me?” came the response. 

“Should I?” Tom asked stubbornly. “Your voice isn’t known to me.”

“I’m what you came to the mountain for,” the voice responded, sounding almost bemused at the fire in Tom’s voice. “I’m what the oracle sent you to find.”

“The monster?” Tom responded before he could stop himself, and a chuckle came from the voice.

“You could call me that, I suppose,” the voice replied, “But it’s not what I consider myself. You can come to know me as William. Or Will, if that suits you.”

Tom swallowed hard. “You’re- you’re the one meant to be my husband?” he questioned. “What do you want from me?”

“I am,” Will answered. “I only want to love you, as a lover should.”

“Why don’t you show yourself, then?” Tom exclaimed. His eyes were still fixed in the direction of the voice, though they landed on nothing but the palace walls.

“I can’t,” Will replied. “You must not see me, do you understand?”

“And?” Tom burst, “I’m never to see or feel you?”

“I will be there tonight when you sleep. You will feel me,” Will said.

Tom took in a deep breath at that. 

“Why can’t I see you?” he replied. His fears and defenses had melted, and it was now curiosity that plagued him. 

“You’ll have to trust me on that,” Will replied. There was a soft beat of silence. 

“Forgive me. I must go,” Will told him. “I will be there tonight.”

“Alright, then,” Tom said, unable to stop imagining Will as the beautiful man that had been in his dreams. “Goodbye.” 

As the palace faded back into silence, Tom found himself feeling very sad at the loss of the voice. He explored the place for the rest of the day, finding books, supplies for him to paint, a place in the garden that was longing for new plants. Though he saw no one around him, when evening had come, he found food waiting for him. It tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten, and Tom couldn’t help but wonder how this had all come to be. It was certainly a much better place than he’d thought he’d be in that morning. 

When it had gone dark, he headed to what he assumed was his bed, laying down upon it. With the lantern off, it was dark enough that he could not see a thing around him— not even an inch from his face. He supposed that was on purpose, to hide his lover from him. He had just taken a moment to wonder why on earth he wasn’t allowed to see Will when he heard a noise next to him and shot up on impulse, his breath quickening.

“It’s only me,” Will told him, and Tom relaxed a bit. He couldn’t feel Will next to him or tell where he was.

“Where are you?” he asked, stretching a hand into the darkness in front of him, hoping to feel Will there. For a moment, his hand met nothing but air, and then a soft, warm hand wrapped around his own, and Tom let out a sigh. He was real.

“I’m here,” Will murmured softly. Tom could hear his soft breathing. 

He couldn’t see Will at all, but he felt him press his lips to the top of his hand, planting a soft kiss. Tom ran his hand up Will’s arm, finding his chest, the sinew of muscle, dragging it up to his neck. Will moved closer, making it a bit easier for Tom, brushing his thumb over Tom’s lip.

Tom found Will’s jaw, the prominent bones in his face. _He must have sharp features,_ Tom thought to himself. He couldn’t quite imagine Will’s face, but he couldn’t help but feel that he must have been beautiful.

“Well?” Will asked as Tom ran his finger over the bones of his cheek. “What’s your verdict? Still think I’m a monster?”

“Maybe,” Tom said, but he was only joking. Will gave a soft laugh that Tom could feel under his fingers, an endearing sound that made him smile. No, surely the man in front of him was no monster. 

When Tom’s hand had met Will’s lips, he stopped, leaving it there for a moment before he leaned in and impulsively pressed a kiss to them, the best he could. Will guided him, melting into it in response, one of his hands resting at Tom’s hip, the other at the back of Tom’s neck. It was soft but deep—Tom’s tongue found its way into Will’s mouth, earning a soft noise from Will in reply.

“You’ve got quite a nerve, haven’t you?” Will asked, pulling away. Tom could hear the fondness in his words. 

“I’m afraid so,” Tom said, unable to stop himself from grinning. “What do we do now?”

“That’s entirely up to you,” Will replied, and Tom thought for a moment. 

“Just hold me,” he said, longing for touch. “Please.” 

He laid down, and he felt Will sink in next to him, wrapping an arm around him, placing a gentle, tender kiss on his neck. They lay there in silence, Tom just enjoying Will’s warmth next to him, the comforting weight of his arm around him. 

“Will I ever get to see you?” he asked abruptly, unable to stop himself. 

He felt Will draw in a breath next to him. “Patience, my love. Trust me,” he said simply, and Tom resigned himself to that for now. It was much better than a monster next to him, hurting him. 

When he awoke in the morning, Will was gone. 

It became like that, days on his own, exploring and enjoying the luxuries of the palace around him, painting, reading, planting soft seeds in the garden. At night, Will would lay next to him, his arm casually draped over him as Tom asked him all sorts of questions, mainly about what things he enjoyed, what things he disliked. He was very loving, gentle, sweet, never pushed Tom into anything, only loved as much as Tom let him. 

He was good company, first and foremost—the only person that Tom could really talk to. But as time went on, Tom felt his feelings shape into affection, into… adoration, devotion. When Will wasn’t there, Tom missed him. Will was lovely and clever, with quick jokes, smiles that would fall into his voice so much that Tom could hear, that he could tell when Will was smiling. And Will... he remembered soft things about Tom, things that surprised him. It was as if Will had been made to be beside him, and Tom supposed that perhaps he was.

The only thing Will would not talk about was his life, what he did during the day. It frustrated Tom a little, but he tried to contain himself nevertheless. It was a few more months before he gave in and admitted he was lonely. Will was lovely, but he was only there at night, and Tom missed conversations with other people. Even the palace could not satisfy him. He longed to see Will, but when he asked, he was only met with the same answer: “Patience, my love.” 

Tom tried to be, but patience was not his strong suit, and he was beginning to get desperate for some sort of change.

“Will,” he said one night, “I was wondering if I might… invite some people up here.”

He paused for Will to respond, but there was only silence, the soft sound of his breathing next to him. Tom quickly elaborated:

“This place, it’s so amazing, and so are you—I love you, and you make me so happy, it’s just… you’re only here at night, and I’ve no one else to talk to during the day, and, well—I can’t help but get a bit lonely. And my family, they don’t know what happened to me. If I could invite my brother up here, if he could see that I’m alright, it would reassure them so much. He and a few of my friends.”

Will leaned over to kiss Tom’s forehead. “Of course,” he responded, and Tom let out a sigh of relief. He felt for Will’s face, leaned up for a kiss. 

“Thank you, Will,” he said. He could feel Will smiling next to him, running his fingers through Tom’s hair. 

“Tom,” Will said hesitantly, “Be careful around them. Don’t let them influence you.”

“Alright,” Tom said, wondering what he meant by that. “I won’t.”

He had the strangest feeling that Will didn’t believe him.

***

When Tom’s friends arrived, he’d never been happier to see them.

“Oh, you’re alright!” Joe exclaimed, pulling him into a hug. “Thank the gods!”

Lauri did the same, clinging onto Tom with all her might. 

“I missed you too,” Tom said with a laugh.

“You’ve been gone for ages!” Lauri simpered, pouting. “What was I supposed to do, _not_ miss you?”

Eleanor was next, similarly drawing Tom into a tight embrace. 

“I’m glad to see you,” she said with a smile. Tom grinned at her, but his smile faltered when he saw Mackenzie standing behind them, lurking a bit. 

“Mackenzie?” he asked Joe. “What’s he doing here?”

“He was our transport up here,” Lauri interjected. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, it’s fine,” Tom replied, brushing aside his feelings. He didn’t much know Mackenzie, but he knew that there were many people who considered him to be wise. He led them around the castle, showing them all the sights before they sat down for lunch.

“This is amazing!” Lauri marveled, looking around at the art on the walls. 

“Yes, quite a sight,” Mackenzie remarked. “You’re very lucky.”

“Yes,” Tom agreed, “I am.” 

As they ate, Joe looked up at Tom with expectancy. “So… are you ever going to tell us about this husband of yours?”

Tom’s cheeks flushed hot, and he brushed a strand of hair out of his face, suddenly feeling embarrassed that he didn’t know what his own husband looked like.

“Well, he’s a hunter,” he lied. Lauri opened her mouth to respond, but Mackenzie cut in for her. “A hunter?” he asked, quirking up an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe. How could a simple hunter afford all of this luxury?”

Tom reddened even darker. “I—well, alright, I’ve never seen him,” he admitted. 

“You’ve never seen him?” Joe repeated, concern creasing into his brow. “What do you mean?”

“He only comes at night,” Tom explained. “And he won’t tell me much of his life.” 

It was a horrid explanation of what his life was like with Will, but he didn’t know how to say it any better. Lauri and Eleanor gave him looks of shock. 

“So you don’t know what he looks like?” Eleanor asked. “At all?”

Tom shook his head. Eleanor and Joe both looked like they wanted to talk more about it, but Lauri shot them a pointed look and changed the subject. When it was time for them to go, Tom gave them all hugs. 

He gave Mackenzie an awkward nod, and Mackenzie gave him a dry smile.

“Thomas,” he said, “Didn’t the oracle tell you that you would end up with a monster?”

“Yes,” Tom replied, “Why?”

“Well, I was only thinking—how are you sure that he’s not a monster if you haven’t seen him?” Mackenzie asked. 

Tom stammered, trying to find words. “Well, I- he doesn’t feel like one.”

“But can you be sure?” Mackenzie continued. “Why else would he not want you to see him?”

Tom couldn’t find an answer. Lauri, Joe, and Eleanor all looked very awkward—Tom could tell that they all agreed with Mackenzie. 

“You should light a candle and look upon his face,” Mackenzie told him. “Then you will know for sure who the man is beside you.”

It was so utterly tempting, and he could tell that Mackenzie saw his conflict. “Bring a knife with you, boy,” he said to Tom. “Then, if he truly is a monster, you will be able to defend yourself.”

He clapped Tom on the back, not waiting for a response, and Tom watched him set up the carriage, the four of them slowly going out of view of the palace as they rode off.

Mackenzie’s words haunted him, and although Tom desperately loved Will, he couldn’t help but wonder if Mackenzie wasn’t right. After all, why else would Will not show his face? Why else would he not talk about his life at all? Perhaps he was disfigured, perhaps he’d used some sort of enchantment to trick Tom.

The thoughts would not stop swirling around his head, and eventually, simply to soothe them, he left a candle and a small dagger underneath his bed before Will arrived. It hurt to put them there, but he couldn’t stop himself, knew the thoughts would never be settled until he had looked. Crawling into bed, he tried not to panic, and waited for Will to arrive.

It seemed ages, the way time had seemed to freeze all those months ago when his father had gone up to see the oracle. When Will finally arrived, Tom breathed as much anxiety out of him as he could in a short puff of air, horrified and simultaneously relieved that Will was finally there. 

“Tom,” Will greeted him, pulling him for a kiss. Tom kissed him back, but he couldn’t help think—what if Will was a monster. What if he was kissing some truly awful thing, a thing that only wanted to use him for its own pleasure?

When Will had laid down next to him, his breaths slowly evening out the way they always did when he’d fallen asleep, Tom carefully slipped out of bed, reaching underneath for the candle and the knife. The blade felt unfamiliar and inexperienced in his hand, but he supposed it was better than nothing. Inhaling sharply, he lit the candle, and immediately marveled at the sight in front of him. There was no monster—instead, what lay before him was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. 

He might have been a statue, for all the perfections his skin bore, chiseled jaw and marble vein, toned muscles, striking features, dark blond hair with a slight curl—no, perhaps it was light brown. Tom couldn’t tell. He was entranced, staring at the sight before him, barely believing what he was seeing. He leaned forward a little, holding the candle up to see better, but as he did, a hot bit of wax dripped off and onto Will’s skin. 

Will woke immediately, shooting up at the feeling of pain, and when he saw Tom there he froze, his eyes taking in the candle and then the knife in Tom’s hand, which Tom dropped immediately, his hands shaking. The feeling of guilt was eating him alive.

“Will, I-” he started, “I’m sorry, I was- I thought you might be-”

“A monster?” Will asked coldly, gathering his things. “I thought we’d moved past that the first night we met. I thought I’d proved to you time and time again how I loved you.”

“Will, you did, I just-”

“-didn’t trust me,” Will finished for him, finally meeting his eyes. “As I shouldn’t have trusted you. I told you not to let them influence you. I told you never to look at me, not until the time was right. Why couldn’t you be patient? Why couldn’t you have faith in me? Have our nights together meant nothing to you?”

In the light of the candle, Tom could see the burn that the wax had left on Will’s shoulder, and shame ran through him upon seeing the angry, reddened injury. 

“No, Will, they meant everything to me,” Tom exclaimed, swallowing back his tears. “I love you!”

“Then why did you look?” Will asked, and Tom hesitated. Will shook his head, wincing a bit as the action affected the burn. “Love can’t live without trust,” he said simply, and then he was gone. 

Will didn’t come back. Tom stayed in the palace, waiting, hoping he’d get a chance to redeem himself, to prove his love for Will, but he never returned. Tom cried for days, cried until his cheeks were raw and his muscles ached from sobbing, cried until he didn’t know it was possible to have cried so much, and still somehow cried some more. And when he had finally stopped, he lay in bed, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to live with himself—live with what he’d done.

It was after a few days that Tom decided that he couldn’t lie around any longer, that he would have to find Will and prove his love. He’d do anything, _anything_ to get Will back and redeem himself for what he’d done. He packed some food and things and set off, trying to find any sight of him. He passed a temple of Ceres, and went to pray at its altar but found instead that the temple had been tarnished, a mess left all along the inside of it. It was a terrible sight, and Tom couldn’t stand to see it so—his parents had always raised him to respect the gods and their temples. 

He cleaned it up as much as he could, and when he was done, he gave it a satisfied look, the temple finally looking as it should. And then he knelt down to give a proper prayer to Ceres, leaving a sunflower as an offering. 

“Your devotion is strong,” came a voice, and he looked up, startled. It only could have been Ceres, a beautiful woman with a crown of flowers, and leaves. Her dress seemed to be made of petals, of grass, of wheat. Her smile was as bright as the sun, and Tom had to shield his eyes a bit, but the brightness faded and he was able to look at her straight on. 

“You cleaned the temple,” she said, “I’m impressed. Your love for Eros is strong, and your dedication is clear.” 

“Eros?” he asked, not quite putting it together. “The god of desire?”

She gave him an amused look. 

“You know him as Will, I believe,” she said, and his heart skipped a beat. Will was Eros. No wonder Tom had been instructed not to look at him. 

Ceres gave him a kind look, and Tom dared to hope, dared to believe that she might be able to help him. He stood, taking a step towards her. 

“You know what happened?” he asked. “Can you help me find him? Please, I just want to...” 

But he fell silent as the goddess shook her head.

“I truly wish I could, but I cannot defy Venus,” she said, and Tom understood—Venus was Will’s mother, and no doubt she was furious at Tom now for what had happened.

“However,” Ceres continued, “If I were you I would go to her and beg for forgiveness. Perhaps she will have mercy on you.”

“I will,” Tom said, though he had to admit that he was quite nervous to do so. Ceres gave him a deep nod, and then she was gone. Tom was alone again.

He headed for Venus’ temple next, finding it whole. His knees were shaking, the combination of fear and hope, the fact that perhaps Venus would appear and forgive him, or perhaps her anger would shine fully on him. 

He made an offering of a rose, one of the ones he’d taken with him from the garden Will had given him, and knelt to pray. He told her of the sorrow in his heart, the regret of what he’d done, of his love for Will—he begged her to have mercy on him. When he was done, he sat still for a moment, hoping, _hoping_ she would appear. 

“So,” came a voice, “You’re the one who broke my son’s heart.”

Tom stood immediately, and before him was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She seemed to glow with a celestial form of light, and Tom stared at her, enraptured. Her hair cascaded down her back, flowing like the waters of a river. It seemed to change color in the light, copper, then blonde, then auburn. Her eyes were blue, as clean and clear as a stream. But they were cold, fixed on him. Venus. The goddess of love herself. 

She gave him a once-over, giving a scoff. 

“I expected you to be more beautiful,” she said, “For all the trouble you’ve caused me. I’d heard stories of mortals calling one of their own kind more beautiful than me, a boy with more beauty than Venus.”

Her mouth tilted into a prideful grin, but envy flashed in her eyes. “I suppose I needn’t have worried—you’re nowhere as beautiful as I am.”

Tom didn’t know how to reply to that. He’d never once thought that he was more beautiful than Venus, though he remembered some of his admirers saying it.

“And now,” she continued, “Here you are. Asking me to help you.”

“I’d do anything,” Tom said desperately, “Anything to prove to you.” 

She gave him a disdainful look. “I have a task for you,” she told him. “A task to prove your love to my son, to prove that you’re deserving of a life with him.”

“I’ll do it,” Tom said quickly, and she studied his expression for a moment. 

“Very well,” she sighed, and she snapped her fingers. The temple around them had disappeared—around them was a storehouse full of grain. Tom could loosely identify it—wheat and barley and millet.

“You must separate this by nightfall,” Venus told him, and Tom felt anxiety run through his spine. “The wheat with the wheat, barely with the barley, and the millet with the millet,” Venus explained.

 _But it was impossible!_ Tom thought. Venus’s grin had gone quite wicked, and she must have known how futile Tom’s efforts would be, how hopeless it seemed. 

“I’d get started if I were you,” she said, and then she was gone. Tom hated her, truly hated her, but he dropped to his knees, trying his best to separate them. It was infeasible, but he did it anyway. He had to try. 

He worked for hours, but it barely made a dent. The task was meant to be this way, designed to make him fail. He brushed sweat off his forehead and sat back on his knees, trying to keep himself together. How was he to do this? He heard a voice on the wind, faint, but present—he whirled around in its direction, trying to see. 

“Will?” he called, daring to hope. There was no reply. Exhausted, he turned back to the pile and started in shock. Ants, a whole colony of them, all over the floor in front of him. He got to his feet and backed away, startled, but as he watched them approach the grains, he realised they were separating it. _They were helping him._

“Thank you,” he said to no one in particular—to whatever force had caused them to be here. He got back on his knees and assisted them, separating the grains as fast as he possibly could. With them, the work went faster, and before Tom knew it, there were separated piles in front of him. The ants scurried away once it was done, and Tom watched them go, relief bleeding into his body. He’d done it. He’d completed it, and now he’d be able to see Will. 

When the sun had begun to set, Venus appeared in front of him, as stunning as she’d been earlier. She glanced around at the piles of wheat, at the hope in Tom’s face. 

“It doesn’t count,” she said, and Tom’s heart dropped to his stomach. 

“What?” he asked. “But you told me-”

“You couldn’t have done it by yourself,” she interjected, shaking her head. “It doesn’t count.”

And then she was gone again, and Tom felt grief run through his body. He’d failed, just like he’d failed to keep Will’s trust. He was too exhausted, too numb to move, and he lay down on the ground, falling asleep.

He woke the next morning to find Venus above him, her eyes smugly lingering on the dirt on Tom’s face and clothes. 

“Not so beautiful now, are you?” she asked. “I have another task for you.”

Tom shot up. “Anything,” he said. 

Venus snapped her fingers again. This time they were near a river, looking upon a herd of golden sheep. 

“There,” she said, pointing. “You must collect the golden fleece from the back of every sheep in that herd.”

She handed him a pair of shears, and then she had vanished. _That was all?_ Tom thought to himself. _Surely it was some sort of trap—it was much too easy._ But he walked forward anyway, planting a foot into the river.

“Wait!” someone cried, and Tom halted, looking up. A boy stood in the water in front of him.

“What?” Tom asked. “What is it?”

“You mustn't cross now,” the boy told him. “Not while the sun rises—they’ll kill you. Wait until the noontime sun has brought the shade. They will all sit in it, and you will be able to pluck the fleece from their backs without fail.”

Tom stepped back, watched as the boy disappeared in front of his eyes. He hesitated a bit, then decided to follow the boy’s advice, sitting at the edge of the river, dangling his feet in it as he waited for the sun to go down. And, as the boy had said, once the shade appeared, the entire herd went to lay in it, and Tom was able to collect the fleece quite easily. When he was done, Venus appeared again, this time not so smug. 

“It still doesn’t count,” she said, brushing aside Tom’s protests. “You didn’t do it on your own!”

Tom stared at her, fire in his eyes, and her jaw tightened, looking at him.

“Very well,” she said. “Then I have one final task for you, if you are truly as determined as you claim to be.”

“Anything,” Tom said again. He didn’t find her beautiful anymore. 

She handed him a small box, her smile turning cruel.

“Take this to the underworld,” she said. “Go to Proserpine and retrieve some of her beauty. Place it inside the box and bring it back to me, and then you will be able to see my son.”

Tom blinked and she was gone, leaving him with a thousand questions. _The underworld?_ He thought, _how on earth was he supposed to get to the underworld, besides dying himself?_

And then a voice came on the wind again, a soft voice that told him where to go—a cave that led down to the underworld, how to bribe the ferryman to get across, and how to avoid Cerberus. Tom couldn't see who was speaking to him, but he had hope that perhaps it was Will. He followed the directions down to the cave and found it there, just as the voice had said. It was dark and damp, a chill that seemed to cut straight into Tom’s bones, leaving him shivering violently. He walked into it, squinting his eyes to see in the dim light. 

In front of him stood a ferryman, who Tom knew must be Charon. He handed him a bag of coins, just as the voice had told him to do, and the man gave him a nod, his face stretching into a ghastly, skeletal grin. Tom felt anxiety sink into him, a terror seeming to exude off this place.

He stepped aside to let Tom onto his boat, and Tom hesitated before stepping on. The journey there seemed like eternity, with how cold and awful it was. When they finally had arrived, Tom nearly jumped off, with his eagerness to be out of that rickety old boat. He felt Charon’s eyes on the back of his head as he walked forward, further into the underworld.

It was long before Proserpine was in front of him, a knowing smile on her face. She resembled her mother, her beauty and fond smile contradicting the ugliness around her.

“Thomas,” she greeted him. “I heard you might be coming.”

She held her hand out for the box, and Tom gave it to her. She opened it, blew a soft breath of air into it, and promptly closed it.

“There,” she said. “A piece of my beauty.”

“Thank you,” Tom told her, and her smile only widened. 

“I always did love a good romance,” she said. “Good luck.”

Tom thanked her again, and went on his way, paying Charon again for transport back to the cave’s entrance. When he was finally out, he took in a deep breath. He supposed he was supposed to head back to the hill that Venus had left him on, and that was where he headed. He clutched the box in his hands like a treasure, but he couldn’t stop thinking.

Who was he to deserve Eros, a god? As Venus had said, he was nowhere as beautiful as she was, and Tom paled in comparison to Will’s beauty as well. Perhaps… He looked down at the box, his heart pounding. Perhaps, if he took a little part of Proserpine’s beauty, then he’d be good enough to deserve Will. Hands trembling, he slowly opened the box. 

At first, nothing happened, and Tom sighed in disappointment. Then drowsiness overtook him, and he fell into a deep sleep, the box slipping from his hands as he collapsed in the middle of the road.

* * *

When Tom awoke a bit later, even before he’d opened his eyes he could tell that someone was holding him, warm arms wrapped around him

“You’re too curious for your own good,” a voice chided him, and Tom’s eyes flew open. 

“Will,” he said, and Will smiled in response at seeing him. Tom had thought that Will might be angry, but his face was only fond, tenderly brushing his thumb over Tom’s cheek.

“Your mother-“ Tom started, but Will shook his head.

“Don’t worry about her,” he said. “She only wanted to keep us apart.”

Tom sat up, and stared desperately at Will. “You’re Eros,” he said, and Will nodded, taking his hand. “That’s why I couldn’t see you.”

“Yes,” Will confirmed. Tom took in a deep inhale, his breath hitching with tears.

“Will,” he said, “For what happened—I’m so sorry, forgive me. You were right and I shouldn’t have looked. I’m so sorry, I-”

“Shh,” Will hushed him, planting a kiss on Tom’s forehead. “I know.”

Tom looked up at him, his brow furrowing in confusion. “You do?”

“Yes,” Will answered. “I admit, I was angry at first—and hurt,” he started, and Tom’s gaze fell to the ground in shame. 

“But when I saw your grief, your regret,” Will continued, “When I saw all that you were doing to prove your love for me, to make up for it, all the anger melted away. The hurt healed. And you’ve done nothing but prove your devotion since.” 

As Will’s eyes fell upon the box on the ground, he gave a soft laugh. 

“Along with showing how impulsive you are,” Will remarked. “But I’ve come to love that, too. You are only you with all your flaws. And I have flaws, too. It wasn’t fair to keep you there for so long, never seeing me.”

Tom’s cheeks reddened. “I only opened the box because I wanted to be good enough for you,” he admitted, and Will gave him an intense look. 

“You are,” he said, forcing Tom to meet his eyes. “You have always been more than good enough for me. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tom told him, finally forgiving himself as he buried his head into Will’s neck, enjoying the feel of the embrace around him.

“I spoke with Jupiter,” Will said, and Tom pulled away, shocked. 

“Jupiter?” he asked. “Why?”

“I asked him to help us,” Will explained. “He called my mother up to see him and convinced her to relax, to let us be together.”

“And she did?” Tom questioned, looking into Will’s eyes. Will nodded. 

“She did.”

Tom felt a weight pull off of him and he laughed as he threw his arms around Will and clung to him, feeling happiness return to him for the first time in ages. 

“Tom,” Will laughed, “Wait, there’s more I have to tell you!”

Tom didn’t much care what it was—he had everything he wanted—but he listened anyway because it was Will.

“The gods have agreed to let you join us,” Will said. He reached into his pocket, fumbling for something that he placed in Tom’s hand. A small, golden square, that seemed to shimmer in the light.

“What is it?” he asked Will, examining it.

“Ambrosia,” came the answer, and Tom halted in place.

“Ambrosia?” he repeated. “But that means-”

“You’d become immortal,” Will finished for him. “Yes. And we’d be able to be together for all time, if you wanted.”

Tom’s answer came as a kiss gently pressed to Will’s lips.

“Yes,” he said eagerly, “Yes. It’s what I want.”

And as Will gave him a fond look, taking his hand, Tom truly knew what it meant to be loved and to love equally in return.


End file.
